Irkutsk

Irkutsk is sometimes referred to as the "Paris of Siberia", though
it keeps a discreet enough distance from the original to avoid direct
comparison. Its reputation comes from the fact that with the Decembrist uprising
in 1825, many nobles suddenly made their homes here. They brought a dash of high
culture with them, and raised the standard for life in Eastern Siberia. Irkutsk
has some old mansions, and boasts an opera house and a university. There is a
central, older part of town with many wooden houses, and an outer part of town
with Soviet-style housing developments.

My hotel was the Intourist, a cement, hulking thing which faced the river. It
was in a nice section of town, and I can't complain about it at all. It was
nicer than any of the places I had stayed before, and even though it had a
bizarre, Alpine interior, the copious amounts of wood were light, and it was
cheerier. There was a shower, though strangely, there was no pedestal. The floor
tiles sloped down in front of the shower to a drain under the sink. In any case,
I was glad to clean up after 4 days on the train, and it will be one of my most
memorable showers ever.

I had arranged a tour with Alexander, the fellow who picked me up at the
station. He's a great tour guide, and works for a local tour company – I
would definitely look him up should I ever go back to Irkutsk. At his
recommendation, I had lunch in the restaurant on the 2nd floor. You
don't go there for the kitchen – you go there for the kitch. The food was
dismal, but the decoration was five-star, from the cement ceiling with the
bulbous chandeliers, to the huge, crystal mineral thing on the wall, and the
many mounted heads of various local animals, which ranged from moose to something that
looked like a gopher. It was all about Irkutsk, I understood, though some
artistry is too conceptual for its audience. If I were nervier I would have
taken a picture. Indeed it's a tourist attraction in itself, and appears in a
locally produced guidebook that I bought, though for different reasons than why
I myself would have included it.

That afternoon, I took a city tour, and signed up to take a trip to Lake
Baikal the next day. Irkutsk is a very small city, and the tour fit quite nicely
in an afternoon. We looked at the local town hall, behind which there was an
eternal flame guarded by goose-stepping schoolgirls with bayonets. I took a
picture from an exceedingly safe distance. We saw some churches, and then made
our way out to a monastery. Several people of note were buried at the monastery,
including the man who sold Alaska to the Americans, and Yekaterina Trubetskaya,
a woman who gave up her nobility and riches to join her exiled husband in
Irkutsk. Again, this dated back from the Decembrist uprising, and she was held
up as an example of heroic loyalty. To balance out the churches I asked to see
the synagogue and the mosque. I'm sure that my tour guide thought it was a bit
eccentric. It turned out that it was – the upper floors of the synagogue are
being used as a business, and the mosque looks like a car repair shop. The
Polish Church I had seen earlier is now a concert hall, so it seems that besides
atheism, Russian Orthodoxy is the only game in town.

Later that afternoon, we saw mansions, a monument to the construction of the
Trans-Siberian railway, and a museum of anthropology. The exhibits on the
Buryats were fascinating, in that the some of the Buryats lived in teepees and
wore beaded moccasins. There was the opera house, the University, the market,
and then we started to scrape for things to look at – the Post Office and
Telegraph building, the Park, cement housing, and the power station.

"So, how would you like to see the power station?"

"Well, it seems to be getting dark."

"You can see it from the hill. Do you want to take a picture?"

"Er, uhh, I seem to have the wrong type of film."

And so on. The tour ended just about at the right time. Actually, I probably
should have photographed the power station. For one thing, Admiral Kolchak was
executed right near by, which effectively ended things for the White Army. And
also, it would have been interesting to show how out-in-the-open all of these
industrial things are in Russia. Whereas in the US, industry is isolated, the
Russians put it in plain view, since they tried to make a workers' paradise.
Besides its nominal function of delivering power to Irkutsk, the power station
also supplied warmth to the Angara river. It also kept the level of hydrocarbons
stable, so they could be monitored by two or more senses. I realized sunset was
more colorful the side where the smoke was going, and tried to capture this from
my hotel window.

That evening I thought I would take myself out for dinner. There was a
restaurant in the guide book, the Dragon, a Chinese restaurant which was a joint
Russian-Chinese venture. I knew I wasn't going to get authentic Chinese food,
but I though that it would be an interesting thing to do. I went outside and
realized that it was at least 10 below. I forgot how pleasant that can be.
Besides, even though it was very dark, I didn't know where I was and there
were few street lights, you're in no danger in this kind of weather since in
this type of cold, people are only concerned with getting from point A to point
B. The one problem was that I couldn't find the restaurant, and forgot to take
the directions with me. So I walked back to the hotel and set out again. The
Dragon was pretty nice, though I wonder who said it was Chinese. In Russian
style, you order a salad (which has pickled vegetables) and small main dishes. I
was having trouble with the menu, and asked whether they had a copy of the menu
in Chinese, which entertained the waitress. I did my best, had a nice dinner,
and the bill came to four dollars, which I thought I could handle.

The next day was my trip to Lake Baikal, which is really stunning. The whole
area is devoted to the lake and to local folklore. We visited the Museum of
Wooden Architecture, which has wooden buildings from the early settlement of
Irkutsk all the way up to ones you would see today. There was a fort, a farm
compound, a sauna, a school, a church with wooden onion domes, and a wooden ger
that the Buryats built. The wooden houses are quite nice (though maybe not to
live in), and many have elaborate ornaments around the windows. I was told that
all of these ornaments are unique. Outside Irkutsk there are many villages that
are made entirely of wooden houses. They're all haphazard affairs, with no
layout, and no streets, for that matter. They have a real, pioneer feel. We
visited one such village, Lisvyanka, which is famous for its wooden church, and
many couples from Irkutsk go there to get married. You can't see "the
real Russia" any more real than this.

The scenery is stunning, especially the Angara River and Lake Baikal itself.
Baikal has 2500 species that you don't find anywhere else, including fresh
water seals, the omul fish (pretty tasty), and a fish that lives in the depths
at such great pressure that it turns to a spot of oil when it reaches the
surface. I saw a bunch of these things in formaldehyde at the Limnological
Museum ("limnological" meaning "referring to a lake"). They
also had a tank with baby seals, who put on their cuteness and played me like a
grand piano.

We took a ferry out to a village called Port Baikal, a moribund-looking
settlement with a few houses and a tiny, one-room general store. Port Baikal was
a stop on the Trans-Baikal railroad. The Trans-Baikal used to be part of the
Trans-Siberian, but now it only operates in the summer for tourists. Though Port
Baikal looks like it's on its way out (young people get out of there as soon
as they can, so there are only very old and very young), I liked the fact that
everyone you meet yells, "Hello!" whether they know you or not. The
village, and actually, the whole area, reminded me of the area in Donegal where
I spent a summer learning Gaelic. Both are isolated, both are known for their
folkloric significance, and both have people who greet you when they see you on the
road.

I also started to realize that there was some sort of story about my father's
father that probably took place around here. My father and his siblings are very
American, and didn't take in a lot of details about their parents. They grew
up with English spoken in the house, picked up a little Yiddish, but knew no
Russian at all. Apparently, my grandfather would correct my grandmother's
Russian from time to time, and she would bluff, "So, you think you're so
smart? Get the dictionary! GET THE DICTIONARY!!" So he would get the
dictionary, and she would back down until the next flare-up.

Apparently, there was the story about my grandfather was crossing a lake in
Siberia. Crossing the lake, he met a Siberian fellow who asked him what was
happening in western Russia. My grandfather mentioned that there was a
revolution going on, and that he was fleeing for a multitude of reasons. And as
a Jew, he was in particular demand with the taxidermists at that point in
history. The guy thought this was a very funny joke, the thing about being a
Jew. Grandpa didn't have horns or hooves, so he couldn't possibly be a Jew,
and would he please be serious. How my grandfather finally proved it to him is
none of my business, but the lake had to have been Lake Baikal, while he was
traveling the Trans-Siberian on his way out of Russia.

Not only did I get to see Baikal, but I picked up a very interesting fact
from dragging my poor tour guide around – he can't stand the cold. Many
people in Siberia can't stand the cold. I never thought about it, but then
again, I come from New York and can't stand the summers because I can't
think when it's hot. I suppose that preferred temperature is a very subjective
thing, and varies from person to person. I happen to like the cold since it
wakes me up, but my happiness was little comfort to my poor guide. It was a
great tour, but I'm sure he was delighted to be back in Irkutsk. Even though
he really must have wanted to get home, he took me to the market, as promised,
to help me buy food for the next leg of the trip.

The market is huge and modern, and any tales of long lines for a crust of
bread are pretty old at this point. There were meats, vegetables, cheeses, eggs,
fish, breads and goods of all descriptions. I'm not sure how much of this
people can buy, but the variety was stunning. I bought a few things for the
trip, and smoked fish, bread and caviar for dinner. I made a pig out of myself
in the hotel room while I watched CNN, and then got ready to check out at noon
the next day.

Irkutsk had started to win me over, but it's definitely a two-day town.
This was the third day, and I was wondering what I was going to do, especially
since I was giving up my hotel room. In the morning, Alexander met me and took
me to a bag repair place, which was incredibly nice of him. It was so cold that
the metal clip on my bag strap snapped, and he knew someone who could fix it.
Rather than throwing things out as they do in the West, they repair things, with
the best of Soviet jury-rigging still in practice. The fellow took the clip from
another strap, and sewed it on to mine with a foot-pedaled Singer sewing
machine that was built around 1900. He was very impressed with Alexander acting
as my interpreter. He said that he'd taken German all through school, but the
only thing that he could say was "Hände hoch!"

We also went to the Post Office, which Alexander insisted is the best place
to use the Internet. Actually, it's the best place to wait behind someone
using the Internet, it having the lowest price in town. We took a number and
went for coffee. It struck me that because of the Internet, Irkutsk would be a
great back door for Europe. A translation service in Irkutsk, which is 8 hours
ahead, could get their work at close-of-business in Europe, first thing in the
morning. They could do a full day's work, and as if by magic, make it appear
in Europe first thing the next day. A lot of business could work like that,
notably programming, which they do very successfully in India for the same
reasons. Prices are low and the people are educated. I mentioned this to
Alexander, who, like most Russians, is looking around to find new things to do.
In fact, I think that with proper management, Siberia could be a powerhouse in
the next century. With the resources that they have, they could be embarassingly
wealthy. The rub, of course, is management.

When we went back to the Post Office, someone was already there. I really
didn't want to check my e-mail anyway, since supposedly I was on vacation.
That being said, I was left with an afternoon to kill in Irkutsk. Walking back
to the hotel, I realized that dirt and smoke aside, Irkutsk is really quite
nice, and much more relaxed than European Russia. Be that as it may, killing an
afternoon is more difficult when it's 10 below, since you can't sit in the
park and write post cards. I had checked out of my room, so the trick was to
find somewhere to sit where I wouldn't be thrown out or fleeced. I thought
that even though the hotel restaurants were pretty awful, I might be able to sit
over coffee after having lunch. The buffet restaurant was closed, even though
people were eating there, and I was referred to another restaurant downstairs.
The advantage of being banished, I hoped, was appalling service that would take
at least another hour.

Like the restaurant upstairs, this one had dead, gutted animals on the wall
as well. Here, however, the tables were made of 4-inch thick wood, and the chair
arms were built in such a way that you were never closer than 3 feet away from
the table, whichever way you sat. There was also a disco ball on the ceiling.
And, there was no one in the restaurant – a good sign.

A waitress gave me the menu, which didn't have a lot of promise. I ordered
the Franzuski Salat ("French Salad" – which part of it was French I had no
clue) and the house shashlik, or shish kebab. The house staked their reputation
on it, literally "staked" because it was shish kebab, and like the
décor, this meal would consist of dead animals and pieces of wood. The waitress
who took my order had a heavy veneer of makeup, no doubt to protect her from the
Siberian winter, and dark brown lipstick, which I imagined was to prevent anyone
else from picking her cigarette out of the ashtray.

My plan was working so far. I had no illusions about the food, but it took a
good half-hour to bring what amounted to a Philly cheese steak on a knitting
needle. I ate slowly, finished all the bread in the bread basket, drank every
bit of the bottled water, and then hunkered down for the longest cup of coffee
in the history of man. I had a book, and every intention of finishing it. In a
Western restaurant, especially an empty one, someone would bother to ask whether
you wanted more coffee, and perhaps interest you in some dessert. At an
Intourist restaurant, where stuffing your guest doesn't translate into a
bigger tip, the story was different. The waitress gave me a bill, and grabbed
away my carefully unfinished cup of coffee! I had been served my walking papers –
doubly disconcerting since it was only 2:30 and there were 4 more hours to
occupy. The one bright moment was that when I looked at the bill, I realized
that the bastards had charged me 3 roubles for the bread. Ha! I ate it all.

I went upstairs for another guaranteed time-waster – to check my e-mail at
exorbitant rates in the hotel business center. I located the woman in charge
and we got the computer working. I was about to sit and read about nothing when
by incredible coincidence, I ran into Trevor and Kim, the Antipodeans I had met
on the train. Afternoon saved! They had come to change some money at the hotel,
and hadn't yet seen Irkutsk because they stayed in Lisvyanka, the village near
Lake Baikal. So I showed them around and gave the tour I'd had two days
before. Very pleasant, and it took just the right amount of time. I got back to
the hotel, un-checked my bags, and caught my lift to the train station.